


Good Morning

by SharpestRose



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:00:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three ways to wake up, and a cause for celebration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning

Today the dawn is slow, lazy, cloud-streaked and pink, low above the sea and warm with a promise to get warmer still later.

Jack's feet are bare, his hat tipped down to throw a long wide triangle of shade over his face. He wakes by degrees, content to feel the rock and creak of the _Pearl_ around him while the rest of the crew sleeps and snores in various sprawls on the deck and below it.

The days are fading into each other, glorious and spiced and bright and endless as the ocean. More like one long day, ever changing and ever repeating. Jack laughs quietly to himself and stretches his legs out on the dark wood as the sun rises and morning begins again.

-

Miles away, Will stirs in a dream and shifts sleepily, reluctant to rouse himself and lose the lethargy of that not-awake moment before sleep departs entirely. Elizabeth curls against his side, lithe and soft and scented like the dried lavender her clothes are stored in between wearings. Will props himself up onto one elbow, his vision listing blearily to one side as he gives up on resting and moves to kiss her mouth. She hums approval and pulls him closer.

"Good morning, Mr Turner," Elizabeth says, her eyes still closed.

"Good morning, Mrs Turner," he answers. The words carry a magic that has yet to wear off after three months of saying them. Three months and the honey has not melted off the moon yet, three months and Will wakes every morning and marvels at his luck.

-

James's mouth is dry and sour and his eyes ache as he blinks sleep from them. Sometimes he wonders if freshness flees the room as soon as he drifts off, leaving dead staleness in replacement to make a crypt. The bed is rumpled; the blanket tangled on his legs feels constrictive as a winding sheet and the edges of the mattress so far and distant and empty all around him.

He sighs, rolls his still-gritty eyes, and staggers over to the water jug to wash his face. He has taught himself to be more alert in the early morning than comes naturally to him, but it is an uphill battle he faces every day.

He pushes the curtains back from the wide window, scowling at the coral colours in the sky and the silvery water smooth as glass below it. Another beautiful day in paradise, how bloody _marvellous_.

-

"Wreck on the rocks, wreck on the rocks," comes the cawing call, pulling Jack up to his feet as if by a somewhat looped string.

"Land? Where's the land?" he asks, realising after a moment that his hat is in the way of his view. Port Royal is a miniature on the edge of visibility, tiny doll-people moving up and down the docks like brightly hued ants.

"Ah!" Jack says happily, smiling his wicked golden smile. "Land."

-

James swears. Blinks. Squints. Swears more.

"Not today, Sparrow," he mutters despairingly; as if there shall someday be a time when the sight of a black ship flying a pirate flag on the horizon will not fill him with annoyance. If there is to be such an era in the future it is still far and away, because right now James wants to kick things.

He does so. The chair leg snaps, sending the seat crashing into the washstand and throwing an arc of soap-sudded water over James's face. His mood does not improve as a result.

-

Elizabeth _hates_ getting up early. Especially when her bed has a lovely warm lump of Will beneath the covers. But Estrella knocks on the door again and says "Miss, the Commodore looks to be in a right temper, I don't think you should keep him waiting. I'd say he's vexed on account of the _Black Pearl_ pulling into port.", and Elizabeth gives the Will-lump a sharp kick and says "Will! Jack's here!", and rises to dress.

-

"See your welcoming party's all lined up waiting," Gibbs comments as three figures become recognisable among the crowd on the pier. Jack raises his hat with a flourish and brandishes a ragged piece of paper in the other hand. Will and Elizabeth wave back with varying amounts of gusto and even from this distance Jack can tell that the Commodore has his arms crossed and is probably pouting.

There's a bit of movement; Norrington is shepherding the Turners into a dory. The small boat rows up alongside the _Pearl_ and Jack's prediction about the Commodore's expression is confirmed.

Jack leans over to grin down at them as they begin to climb up. "You're looking as deceptively harmless as always, Elizabeth, an' I do believe your husband's feather is even bigger than it used to be. Commodore, you're -"

"You have ten seconds, Sparrow, to explain why a pirate ship is currently in my port," Norrington says snappishly as he pulls himself to standing on deck. Jack offers a steepled-palms gesture of placation.

"Not a pirate, mate. _Privateer_. Believe they're allowed to pull in wherever they fancy, provided it's not somewhere French or Dutch or Spanish. And I've yet to see upper lips stiff as yours in any of those colonies, so I reckon I'll be safe enough."

"You're flying a skull and cutlass flag! With no evidence whatsoever of British colours."

"Didn't want to be all flashy, mate."

The three visitors cast a glance around at the elaborate carvings adorning the ship, the deep ebony colour stained into the wood. The beads and gold and decoration all over the captain himself. Nobody offers a retort to Jack's claim; it scarcely needs to be voiced.

"Got a letter of the marque right here, unbelievers." He holds up the paper again. "Got to learn to trust ol' Cap'n Jack."

Norrington gives the parchment a quick glance. "It's a _shopping list_."

"Ah, but close inspection will show you that it is, in fact, the shopping list lately belonging to Elizabeth's own dear dad. Official orders, once there's a bit of red wax on the bottom. I'm commissioned with the task of finding... let's see..." Jack holds the paper out at arm's length, as if trying to make sense of a foreign cipher. "A new dress for Elizabeth... sword from Mr Brown - guess he's not sharp enough to spot it was our William here doing the work. Heh, sharp, sword..." Jack's momentary laughter meets Norrington's steely gaze and wilts meekly. "Ahem. So, yes, privateer, that's me."

"So you found some scrap paper during one of the numerous illegal acts you have carried out in this vicinity, and your dumb luck was such that it happened to be the Governor's. The day I believe you to be a privateer, Jack Sparrow, is the day..."

"You turn thirty-five? What a coincidence, then!" Jack grins. "Cotton, Crimp, get the drinks! We've a birthday aboard!"

-

James hopes the look he gives Elizabeth and Will is deadly enough that they will both perish on the spot under the glare of it. Sadly, his hopes are dashed by their continued vitality.

"We thought he was just making conversation?" Will attempts eventually. "You know, asking about mutual acquaintances to pass the time."

"Someone I am trying to eliminate entirely from my life is not someone I consider an acquaintance, Mr Turner," James says. He's happy to hear how cold the words sound. One day... one day he's going to have a nice cottage in an empty bay on an empty island where there are no Turners of any kind. And no Jack Sparrows, either.

"C'mon, Commodore. Bet you've never had a real pirate party for your birthday before," Sparrow says. A very unwashed specimen of lawlessness brings a few grubby bottles of liquid over, sloshing amber droplets onto Jack's hands as he takes them and places them reverently on the stairs beside him.

"Indeed," answers James dryly. "And I can't say I've ever felt a disappointment over that fact."

"Don't know what you're missing, mate." Jack's grin has an edge of challenge about it now.

"I thought you were a privateer now, anyway," James retorts.

"Right, right, thankyou for pointing that out." Jack waves one finger, the most obscure method of reminding oneself of an elaborate lie that James has ever seen. "How're we holdin' up, Turners?"

"Oh, we're fine, Jack," Elizabeth says, and James finds that her note of exasperation is more amusing to him than he would have expected.

"Glad to hear it. Because to an untrained eye it would appear that our fine Commodore has brought two subjects of the British Crown aboard a pira... _privateer_ ship with nary a redcoat in sight to protect their sweet and innocent hides from corruption and depravity. Which of course can't be right because that would mean he didn't consider said pirate to be -"

"Privateer." James isn't smirking. He is... entering into the spirit of a farcical circumstance. Any minute now a pig is going to fly across the horizon on small orange wings. Captain Jack Sparrow has returned to Port Royal to throw a birthday party for the Commodore of the Royal Navy. Yes, the hog flock will be passing overhead directly.

"What?" Jack pauses.

"Privateer. You slipped there, said 'pirate'."

"Commodore, have a bloody drink and stop correcting me!" With a stutter of disgust Jack shoves a bottle into James's hand. "I'm trying to have a chat to your party guests here, all right?"

"Considering that we would not be in this situation if you had not had a 'chat' with them on your last meeting, you'll forgive me if I don't relish the thought of what this occasion might result in."

"Mouth. On rum bottle. Not speaking." Jack demonstrates with his own drink in a series of what James assumes Jack considers to be exaggerated. Coupled with the pirate's usual level of overstatement, the effect is slightly dizzying.

-

Damn. The Commodore's still not playing. Jack sighs, glances around, lights on a new idea.

"Will! Here, have a drink!" He shoves the bottle into Will's unprotesting hand. Now to count how long it takes.

...one, two...

"Rum is the most disgusting intoxicant ever devised by scoundrels," says Elizabeth. Will, the bottle halfway to his mouth, sighs and hands the drink back to Jack. Norrington, who previously held his own bottle as if it had numerous diseases, now lifts it to his lips and takes a swallow.

Jack grins. Yes, that'd do it. For all his snippy nobility and the obvious continued affection for the lass, Jack had Norrington pegged as one with a wound or two to pay back. Seems he was right. Elizabeth looks appalled, Will vaguely jealous.

"Sure you don't want one for yourself, Elizabeth?" Jack asks sweetly. She's fun enough, in the slightly terrifying way most women are, but the Commodore deserves someone else on his side against the newlyweds.

She glares. It suits her as an expression. Then the glare shifts, becomes piercing. Jack attempts to look inno... harml... blank.

"A word, Jack?" Elizabeth asks sweetly as she grabs his arm and drags him away.

-

James takes another small sip and grimaces at the taste. Food at sea might often be terrible, but it seems slightly excessive to rot one's taste buds away with such beverages as a protection against the taste of dried biscuits. He offers the bottle to young Mr Turner, interested to see how deep the obedience runs.

Will looks about, checking that Elizabeth isn't paying attention, and takes a surreptitious gulp. He smiles guiltily at James.

"I am sorry, I had no idea Jack was planning this," Will says, and James believes him simply for the reason that 'had no idea' and 'Will Turner' are concepts which seem to fall together naturally.

From further down the deck the sounds of Elizabeth's interrogation of Jack become more audible. "Do you always treat life and death as if it's some elaborate joke you're involved in?"

-

"I mean," she goes on. "What _exactly_ are you playing at here, Jack? The Commodore has turned a blind eye to you lately, that's true, but that won't last forever if you try his patience every chance you get. Your ways of making friends are as clumsy as your attempt to seduce me on that island was."

"Learned from my mistakes, haven't I?" Jack retorts. "Not to mention you're a psychotic harpy under a disguise of sweet virginity that would fool any man. Well, you were under a disguise of sweet virginity on the island, anyway. I take it young Will has remedied that?"

"Getting off the subject, Jack," Elizabeth says coolly.

"Point is, darling, I'm not stupid enough to do something that'd get me hanged. Savvy?"

Elizabeth's expression does not suggest unconditional faith. Jack drapes his arm across her shoulders breezily and leads her back over to the other two.

-

James is actually relieved when Jack and Elizabeth return. It's difficult to find topics for small talk with the man who married your fiancee, though Will has undoubtedly faced a similar but inversed dilemma himself.

"To birthdays," Jack says solemnly, toasting with his bottle and taking a long gulp. James smirks, suspecting that Jack would toast to air and sunlight if there was drink involved. "Now, who wants a tour?"

"I've seen the cabins," Elizabeth points out.

"Familiar with the brig myself," adds Will. Jack glares at them both in exasperation.

"All right, good for you. Would you like to see them now they're not covered in filth?" he pauses. "Not covered in filth that's not the good honest filth of my fine and stalwart crew, anyway."

"I think," James says. "We can do without a tour, Sparrow."

"Time for drinks, then!" Jack seems more than pleased with this situation. "Music, as well, I think. Where's that blasted fiddle player?"

-

Elizabeth is more than slightly taken aback when Anamaria is the one to pick up the violin and begin a quick and cheerful tune on it. With the morning air warm against her skin and the gentle movements of the sea against the ship, the moment is surprisingly peaceful and happy. Elizabeth's about to make a toast (without a bottle, because she doesn't like the taste of rum), but a voice beside her interrupts before she can speak.

"To birthdays," says the Commodore. "May they always be this... memorable."

"And in such sterling company too, mate, don't forget that bit."

"Indeed."


End file.
